


a work of art

by bethchildz



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post S4, angst fluff and smut? who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethchildz/pseuds/bethchildz
Summary: Things had been different since they got the beach house back.Somehow, after the cracks in the walls were boarded up and the bathtub was back where it belonged in the bathroom, it's like a new softness had taken up residence in Grace's heart. Nick was long gone - she was thankful, don't get her wrong, that he offered to buy the house, and his money and unbridled determination proved useful when it came to renovating - but she knew their relationship had an expiration date. After the break-up, which filled Grace with an uneasy hint of relief more than anything else, Frankie had been unequivocally ecstatic.





	a work of art

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Grace and Frankie fanfic so please be kind (and my first piece of writing in months)! I have wanted to write for them for ages but I was always terrified I couldn't do them justice but I figured there's never enough content in the tag so I gave it a shot. I had loads of fun writing this so there may be more oneshots to come in the future.

Things had been different since they got the beach house back.

Somehow, after the cracks in the walls were boarded up and the bathtub was back where it belonged in the bathroom, it's like a new softness had taken up residence in Grace's heart. Nick was long gone - she was thankful, don't get her wrong, that he offered to buy the house, and his money and unbridled determination proved useful when it came to renovating - but she knew their relationship had an expiration date. After the break-up, which filled Grace with an uneasy hint of relief more than anything else, Frankie had been unequivocally ecstatic.

"I just don't think he was right for you, Grace! You can do so much better!" she'd say as a way of explanation, and seeing that smile on her best friend's face every day had slowly begun to unwind the tangle of knots that had seemed to live in Grace's stomach since she was a teenager.

The domesticity of the way they were currently living was not lost on her. Every morning, she would wake up an hour or two before Frankie, cook up some pancakes and ensure there were plenty of jelly sweets to satisfy her best friend's completely unnecessary sugar cravings. Most of the time, it was around 12 o'clock when Frankie would emerge from her studio, humming a sweet tune of which Grace was unfamiliar, occasionally with paint splattered in her salt-and-pepper hair. And each day, so it seemed lately, she carried with her a sense of lightness (something Grace wouldn't dare admit out loud).  Grandmotherhood looked good on her. Things were still rocky with the kids, and it would take a while before Grace could really look at Brianna and Mallory in the same way, but Bud had agreed to let Frankie babysit Faith once a week, under the condition that there was no driving involved.

It was funny how being manipulated into assisted living could bond two people together so tightly. Frankie was her safety net. Unlike before, she wouldn't tolerate Frankie's strange come-ons, but instead outright enjoy them. It wasn't unheard of for Frankie to end up in Grace's bed on particularly rainy nights either. It was like the tether that had joined them together after the Robert and Sol mess had only gotten stronger, and the air in the beach house was suddenly clearer. It was as if Grace could breathe for the first time in more than 40 years, but at the same time, she was dizzy with the intensity of it. There was a line being tested, and she knew it. She knew that Frankie knew it too.

She felt it this morning, in particular. As she approached the end of the stairs, she realised Frankie was already awake. And painting...in the living room. Glancing at her watch, she noted that it was only 9am, so something must be up.

"You're up early," she commented and she felt Frankie's eyes drink up her whole body as she descended the last few steps and the hunger of it left Grace's already weak knees a little weaker.

"I couldn't sleep!" she said, returning her hungry eyes back to her canvas, awash with too many colours that it gave Grace a bit of a headache.

"Is your studio broken?" she said jokingly, pointing to the painting half done in front of her.

"The muse wants what it wants, Grace," Frankie said without removing her eyes from her increasingly aggressive paint strokes.

"Is something wrong?" Grace asked, aware that it was very unlike Frankie to struggle with insomnia. That was much more of Grace's territory, and although she had been sleeping better lately (especially when Frankie was next to her - sometimes, then, she didn't even need her medication), her head was still cloudy from the pills she took last night.

"Nope, just needed to check in with Joanne," Frankie said as she threw yellow and red onto the canvas and for a second Grace thought she might be painting the rainbow hot air balloon from last year. Her heart ached slightly at the idea. Santa Fe was a distant memory now, but one that still crept into Grace's subconscious every now and then, and the hurt of almost losing her lifeline still lingered beneath the surface occasionally.  

"And what is she saying?" Grace asked with a smirk on her face, as she went to the fridge to begin cooking the pancakes. She sensed more than saw Frankie hesitate, and she heard the paintbrush stop its attack on her work-in-progress.

"That we need to talk about what's happening, " she said, and her voice was suddenly far too quiet for Frankie Bergstein, and the shock of it spun Grace around on her heels.

"And what is that?" Grace lifted her eyebrows in honest confusion, but her body betrayed her mind as the butterflies in her stomach seemingly laughed at her obliviousness.

"What's happening with us, Grace," and suddenly there was a sincerity in Frankie's eyes that turned the butterflies in Grace's stomach into a frenzy.  

"I...I don't know what you mean," she forced herself to say, somewhat robotically, because it was a complete lie. She knew exactly what she meant. Although they hadn't spoken of it, many times during the stormy, Frankie filled nights, they awoke with their limbs tangled together, sometimes Frankie's arm thrown around Grace's waist so tight she felt as though she couldn't ever leave the sanctity of her bedroom.

"Oh, come on, Grace. Don't lie to me," Frankie's tone was far too serious. Far too accusatory. Grace turned right back around to the pancakes, busying her hands as if the movement would quell the spiralling panic that was taking over her entire body.

"If you're not going to spit it out, Frankie, then don't bother," she heard the bitterness and the unnecessary cruelty in her voice and she wanted to scream out that she didn't mean it, that she knew exactly what she was going to say, but the cowardice inside of her was overruling her mouth and there was no way she could let the words leave her lips.

"Don't shut down, Grace, please. Not now," and she couldn't see Frankie's face anymore but she knew the vulnerable look that was in her eyes and it made her own close without her permission, her hands briefly stopping their helpless commotion. She couldn't deal with this. Not when everything was going so well. Did it really have to be talked about? Everything was running so smoothly. And so she didn't reply, simply placed the batter in the frying pan and tried her best to block out what was happening behind her. But she could tell that Frankie was walking towards her, could smell the patchouli and weed and acrylic paint and it was entirely too intoxicating but she would not risk this stability, this safety, that had comforted Grace since leaving Walden Villas. She couldn't cross the line.

"I know you've felt it too," Frankie's voice was right behind her now, and she swore she could feel goosebumps rise across her back where the feather-light touch of Frankie's voice met her skin.

"If you're talking about annoyance, then yeah, you got me," she laughed but it was anything but light-hearted.

"Grace, please," and that was enough to make Grace feel like her life just fell out from underneath her feet, and she was reminded all too well of the time Frankie told her about Santa Fe. How the last time they were in this position, it was vibrator boxes instead of kitchen utensils taking up the space in Grace's hands she wished she could use instead to brush the unruly hair out of Frankie's face. Hesitantly, she placed the spatula on the side and turned ever so slightly to look into Frankie's eyes. There it was. Those vulnerable, sad puppy eyes stared at her so lovingly she almost cried out because surely she didn't deserve this patience when everything in her nature was telling her to run, to ruin this before it even got started.

"Frankie," was all she could manage, a whisper, and she couldn't look into those piercing blue eyes anymore because all she wanted to do was kiss that sad look off her beautiful face.

"Why are you so afraid of this?" Frankie asked, and her tone wasn't accusatory anymore, it was soft and understanding and that was absolutely worse than anger as far as Grace was concerned.  

"Why  _aren't_ you?"

"Because it feels like exactly what should be happening. I've wanted this for a long time, Grace," and she was right by her side now, leaning against the kitchen counter so that no matter where Grace focused her eyes, Frankie was in her line of vision.

"You have?" and she looked up ever so slightly, her eyes darting from Frankie's eyes to her lips, to the ridiculous paint-soaked overalls that nobody should pull off as well as Frankie did at 75 years old.

"Oh, Grace, you're so smart but you're so dumb sometimes," Frankie smiled slightly and Grace allowed her lips to curve in the same way. She slapped Frankie's shoulder slightly, needing to bring back an element of playfulness if she was going to survive this conversation. "You really couldn't tell?"

"Well, that depends what you're referring to," and she didn't know why she was pushing, but she could feel herself slipping, about to tumble over the edge of the cliff and she couldn't help herself. Something switched in the air, and suddenly it was cloudy, entirely too heavy and sticky, and it wasn't the hottest summer La Jolla had seen by a long shot, but suddenly the goosebumps on Grace's skin were replaced with beads of sweat and she wondered how long she was going to last beside the hot stove and the hotter, overwhelming energy Frankie was sending out just inches next to her.

"Like how my first thought when you walked down those stairs this morning was how I'd like to slam you into a wall and make you moan," she deadpanned. _Jesus._ The air really had left the room and suddenly Grace couldn't breathe. She was suddenly aware that the pancake was burning, so she turned off the stove and shakily turned to face the kitchen island, her hands gripping as tight as she could on the counter, her knuckles going white.

"How can you talk about this like it's nothing, Frankie, Jesus Christ!" But she could feel the warmth in her stomach uncomfortably shift lower, and she tried her best to shift her thighs strategically so it wasn't obvious.

"So you're telling me you haven't thought about it?"

How could she answer that? Firstly, of course she had. Many a time Grace had found herself, Ménage à Moi in hand, on the brink of orgasm, when her best friend's hair would pop into her mind, and suddenly she couldn't get the image of her hands tangled in Frankie's curls out of her stupid brain, until she came, harder than she had maybe ever, with her best friend's name on her lips. She realised she had paused too long for the answer to be a _no,_ and so she simply remained quiet, letting her silence speak for her.

"I knew it," and she could hear the smirk in Frankie's tone and she wanted to slap, or maybe kiss, it away. She turned around, maybe too sharply, miscalculating how close Frankie was, suddenly face to face with the realisation that they could kiss if only she leant forward just slightly. She wanted to shake the thought away and bathe in it at the same time.

"Frankie, I..." she said, exasperated, but she didn't know how to finish that sentence. Instead, she took a step back - a challenge. If Frankie wanted to get under her skin, two could play at that game.

"You're all talk, you know. You love doing this to me. Joke about all the things you could do to me. That I could do to you. _Do you want me to do stuff to you? Can't or won't, Grace?,"_ she mimicked, this time meeting Frankie eye to eye, " But you're really telling me you could push me against a wall, kiss me, kiss my neck, touch me. Make me moan. I call bullshit." And she was sure her face was bright red. Arousal and frustration were bubbling within her and she could hear alarm bells ringing, loud and obnoxious in her brain, but they had already gone too far. They couldn't go back now. She saw the shock register on Frankie's features, and it gave her just the slightest tinge of satisfaction.

"I..." Frankie stuttered, and her eyes didn't move from Grace's lips. Suddenly the striped long-sleeve top Grace was wearing was too tight. Suddenly her jeans were entirely too restrictive and she needed to crawl out of her skin. Needed air, desperately. But she remained stock still, her arms crossed in front of her body, staring Frankie down, waiting for the next move.

What she didn't expect was for Frankie to lean forward, her hands coming to rest against the kitchen island so that Grace was pinned beneath her, and whisper right into her lips, "Tell me, Grace. Tell me and I will."

She had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation for this. Her ridiculous fantasies were playing out wildly and realistically in her pill and vodka infused brain, and this was all just a figment of her imagination. Except she could feel Frankie's hot breath, coming now in shallow and short puffs, against her lips and it sent millions of sparks right down Grace's spine. _Holy shit._ This was real. She didn't seem to register that she was nodding. Nodding like her life depended on it. Nodding so ridiculously and enthusiastically that she knew she must have looked insane. But if Frankie thought so, she didn't say anything, and before she knew what was happening a pair of soft, plump lips were against hers in what she could only describe as an epiphany. _Oh._ _This is what it's supposed to feel like._ A moan escaped from her and it seemed only to encourage Frankie, who moved her hips to collide with Grace's, working to pin her even harder against the counter. Their lips moved in a chaotic rhythm, as if years worth of passion had built up only to be released right in this moment with their hips rocking ever so slightly together and Grace's hands making their way into that luscious hair she could never get out of her mind.

"Oh," Grace said when they finally had to part for breath, but it came out more as a moan and she startled herself with the sexuality of it. She sounded guttural. Completely torn apart. If Frankie wanted to take this back now, she swore she would break into a million tiny pieces. It was as if she had finally seen the light - that unreachable ideal that had hovered over her for years, the one she heard her girlfriends talk about in boarding school, the one displayed in every movie and novel and song. It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be a man. Instead, it was her very female, hippie of a best friend. And she's not sure she would trade it for anything in this goddamn world.

"Are you okay?" Frankie whispered against her lips, and it was obvious she didn't want to lose this contact. Was she as terrified of this slipping away as Grace was?

"Y-, uh, yes," she stammered. God. She couldn't even speak properly. She wanted to blush, to feel some sort of shame for how untangled she could become just from kissing her best friend but before she could will her body to realise that they were two 75 year olds making out like teenagers in the kitchen, Frankie's lips were on hers again. And Jesus Christ, she swore she suddenly understood all of the crazy, artsy, hippie shit Frankie was always droning on about because in this moment she was floating. And somehow she knew that this was what Frankie had been painting.

 "God, Grace," Frankie drawled, moving her lips to Grace's neck, and just as Grace let her head fall back with pleasure, she felt Frankie's fingers fumbling with the button on her jeans and the lurch of desire in Grace's stomach should have been criminal.

"Oh god," she tried to whisper and she felt her hips push upwards into Frankie's touch, like her body had a mind of its own.

"I need you," Frankie said into her neck, and her fingers were lingering over the waistband of Grace's underwear. Waiting for a sign that this was really going to happen.

"Please," Grace moved her hands to Frankie's shoulders, pushing her away from her neck just slightly so they could make eye contact. Frankie's forehead leaned forward to softly touch Grace's and the softness of it, contrasted with the way she was still pinned so tightly to the counter made Grace shiver with anticipation. Before Frankie's fingers made their way beneath the lace of Grace's underwear she already knew how wet she was. She already knew she shouldn't feel like this at her age. Knew it must be some sort of miracle or one-off or maybe Frankie had some sort of magical power that had her so tightly wound up that Grace knew she would give herself over entirely to the woman in front of her just to feel the release.

"Oh, honey," Frankie whispered softly when she felt Grace for herself. Her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly and suddenly it was as if Grace was having a sensory overload - everything was dialled up to one hundred - the sensation of Frankie's hand against her centre, the soft moans she could hear slipping from her own lips, Frankie's hot breath against her face, the cold surface of the counter beneath her sticky palms. Too much. Too much. It was building by the second - she could feel it, starting from her toes, slowly creeping its way up her legs, in her stomach, and it was far too early, far too soon but she couldn't help it.

"Frankie, I'm-" she couldn't let herself say the words, even if she wanted to.

"It's okay, it's okay," Frankie's voice was soft but low, reassuring her with short, fast strokes of her fingers that tipped Grace ever closer to the edge. When she came it was bright white and hot, her eyes tightly shut and mouth agape, the coil twirling in her stomach over and over until she was sure she was going to pass out. But before she did, her muscles were relaxing, her limbs shaking and she physically felt her soul return to her body.

"It's-" she started, her eyes heavy and hooded with spent desire. "I've never..."

"I know, honey. It's okay." And the hand that hadn't been driving Grace insane moved to tuck a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear, and she felt Frankie move to kiss her forehead and her cheeks and finally firmly on the lips. Grace knew she had never felt such love in all 75 years of her life. Everything with Robert, with Guy, with Phil, had led her to this surreal moment in their reclaimed beach house kitchen, with the windows open for anyone to see a dishevelled and undone Grace Hanson at the hands of one very talented, very loving Frankie Bergstein. They do say artists are good with their hands. Clearly they were right.

Things would change from here in ways Grace wasn't sure she was exactly prepared for. They had so much to talk about. But with the sweet sound of Frankie's windchimes moving softly in the breeze behind her, and the smell of burnt pancakes in the air, she knew she would take it all a million times over for the woman in front of her. Bringing her palms away from the counter top to meet Frankie's face, she cupped her cheeks in her hand, leaned her forehead against hers once again and whispered, "Thank you." She wasn't sure what she was thanking her for, except for everything, but Frankie simply kissed her again and Grace didn't bother to fight the stray tear that fell down her cheeks.

She didn't have to.

 


End file.
